A Shoulder To Cry On
by Silver Blazen
Summary: She's alone in the world, trapped in the abyss of grief, no one understands her pain. She doesn't need a friend. She needs a brother. When she is disarmed, he becomes her shield and compass. He guides her back home.


**A Shoulder to Carry On**

 **All characters belong to Marvel Comics**

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Feeling utterly alone with no one to shield her from phantoms in the darkness, Wanda had taken a ride on the subway, concealing herself with one of Steve's hooded sweat-shirts. It was warm and comfortable, with the symbol of the Avengers printed on its front. It was an emblem of unity, trust and family.

Among all the members of the team, she trusted Captain Rogers as a good friend and encouraging mentor. She had valued their relationship, and used him as an anchor when the past threatened to swallow her back into raging waters of grief. He was there, at her side, placing his massive hand on her shoulder, promising her that everything would be fine. She never doubted those words.

Steve welcomed her into his home, not judging her shadowy, mystic and clairvoyant appearance, or the tarnished Celtic pendants she had stolen from the smoldering rubble of destroyed foundations. Each piece of jewelry was a remnant; preserved memories of the desolated town she had once deemed as her sanctuary. That was before the missiles struck down and devoured every piece of humanity—casting it into an inferno. She wouldn't have lived if it wasn't for her twin brother. Pietro who had closed his secure arms around her tiny body, and protected her in that moment the glass rained over them, and the screams of their parents faded into murky haze of the firebomb.

After they had found the light, Wanda and her brother were given shelter and offered a new purpose in seeking vengeance.

Willingly, she had accepted the chance to harness power, and forced her heart to turn black when surges of red energy encased into the marrow of her bones. She was transformed into a monster, a marvel who possessed thaumaturgic and telekinetic abilities; much like a witch in old Slavic children's story books. Granted with new strengths, she had molded a new name for herself : The Scarlet Witch.

Now, Wanda was given a choice; to become an Avenger. It seemed daunting at first, to carry on the fight without her brother. Their inseparable bond that had been forged since birth, was severed by the coldness of death. She remembered feeling her world ripping apart, feeling his heart beat fade into a weak tempo of release.

It hurt every day to wake up, and find herself staring at the empty doorway, imaging that he stood there with his silver mussed hair hanging over his ice blue eyes, and his lips held that warm brotherly smile of assurance. It was just a trick that crept from the recesses of her tortured mind. He wasn't coming back. With all her powers, there were limitations that prevented her from restoring the pieces of her that were carried away with his soul. He was gone, just like her parents—a victim of human error and sacrifice.

She wasn't a soldier, or a trained assassin—she was what a few called an enhanced, but now what the public and press now referred to as a mutant. A part of her still belonged in a caged.

Narrowing her gray eyes downwards, she gripped onto the rail, ignoring the compacted bodies of the strangers pressing against her. She felt trapped and distant to society around her. Everything was controlled by machines, and no one seemed to acknowledge each other. They were lifeless shells, imprisoned in their own worlds and fears. She was a silent observer, studying their wary, and unapproachable expressions and trying to grasp on a clear understanding on how much time was wasted by distraction.

Feeling the surges of her energy brim in her veins, Wanda twirled her fingers with rhythmical kinetics, her eyes became varnished with intense red. She locked her bewitching gaze on a cellphone, making crimson whirl over its surface. The device broke into pieces on the floor. The tall woman in a white blouse, obviously a Wall Street lawyer, dropped her brief case and looked down, wide-eyed, at the shards of metal and plastic gathered at her spiked heels.

"Life is not meant to be wasted," Wanda murmured with darkness in her Slavic voice. Her eyes roved back to the window where she stared in awe at the gleams of sunlight reflecting against towering skyscrapers. "...it is meant to be more than a dream."

Releasing a shaky breath, Wanda pulled out a white rose from the front pouch of her sweatshirt. Her black polished nails traced over the delicate petals with a gentle touch. She had stolen the flower during her morning jog through Central Park. It was detached from a rose bush, and left to wither on the ground. She snatched it up, claiming the flower as a small token of grievance for her brother's grave site. It was all she had to offer to him during her visit. They never got to see the beauty of the world, always the aftermath of destruction.

When the automatic doors slid open, Wanda hurried past the hordes of people and raced up the stairway; her heeled boots clicked on the littered steps until she felt the humid breeze caress her pale features, her long chestnut strands whirled against her tensed features. She eluded the traffic, moving her lithe form like a stray black cat, feeling unnatural in the light and paced further down the sidewalks.

A few people gave her skeptical looks, almost condemning her as an outsider, a daunting wraith that was avoided. In other words, she was degraded as a calamitous necromancer who brought harmful aliments and curses.

Shaking her head of the rude comments, Wanda didn't allow their judgments to avail her. Instead, she pitched out a humorous retort while ambling towards the crosswalk. "They watch too many Disney movies..." Her voice trailed, feeling the vague sense of detachment spiral against her mending heart in the vast onslaught of surviving another day without her brother's hand. Pietro always guided her away from the awaiting dangers.

"What's left of me now?" she questioned, dismally. Narrowing her eyes, Wanda stared intently at the rose clutched in her trembling hand, not sure which direction to take, feeling inadequately misplaced and frozen in the middle of the street.

Everything had blotted out in those momentary lapses of pain. She wasn't aware of the oncoming transport truck spearheading through the right lane directly towards her. The collision was imminent.

Wanda snapped her head, reacting to the screeching of tires smoking against the asphalt. Automatically, red energy flared out of her veins, and she lifted her hand up, controlling a parked car beside her, throwing it up into the air and using it as shield against the impact.

Right at that moment, she heard the roar of a motorcycle, tearing through the lanes. She blinked the diluted haze out her eyes, regaining clarity in her vision. She watched the rider swerve in between taxi cabs and then maneuvered with full throttle to the obstruction she had caused.

Putting all her focus on the blonde haired rider, a smirk twitched across her ruby lips. It was Steve, closing in on her as the truck angled on its side, the trailer was air brakes created a deafening noise. Wanda released a high pitched scream, covering her ears, crashing to her knees as glass exploded from windows and shards nicking at her exposed skin.

"Wanda," Steve called out, with calm and firm intent. His piecing azure eyes fixed on the gashes on her cheek.

Feeling his heart plummeting into his churning gut, Steve accelerated over the flipped car. He released his hands from the bike's handle bars, and quickly jumped into the air to catch her in the expanse of solid his arms. The vibrainum alloy of his indestructible shield scraped against the cement as he landed on his back; sparks flew the moment he encircled his broad arm protectively over her thin waist. He pinned his densely muscled body down as the trailer slid above their still bodies; fluid leaked over the sleeves of his bomber jacket.

"It's okay," he soothed tentatively stroking his large hand through her sodden and disheveled auburn locks while her face unceremoniously buried into his heaving, firm chest. "You're safe. I swear to you, Wanda," he promised.

"It's not all right," Wanda sobbed, relentlessly, feeling feverish with hate. Her throat clogged with liquid and her stomach imploding and tensing up against his torso. Her fallen tears drenched his white shirt and her fingers clutched the leather of his jacket. "You don't know what it's like to lose a brother..."

Steve's expression crumpled into an abashed semblance of olden grief. He understood the measures of pain rattling through his bones...Bucky Barnes was his lost brother; his burden that he carried on his shoulders every day. "Actually, I do know what it feels like, Wanda."

Wanda shook her head, wrinkling his shirt. "Pietro was a fool...A damn fool to race into the crossfire." She gasped harshly, her mascara smearing over her pallid cheeks. "I-I felt him die. I felt his pain and fear. It wasn't fair... He-He promised me that we would never part." She reeled her head up, settling her teary gaze on the crushed flower; most of the petals were scattered underneath Steve's boots. In that moment, Wanda felt that her body was drowning into the veritable red sea and the ground erupted with tremors underneath her. "No..."

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, locking his icy blue eyes on the mess of petals. His chiseled features went lax once he realized the meaning of the rose. It was a gift for her to place on Pietro's grave. "Wanda, I'm sorry," he spoke in a volume of sheer understanding, still looking at the white petals. His broad jaw set into a despondent expression that mirrored hers. Sucking back a gulp of air, Steve reined himself back up, seizing her arms firmly and giving her a squeeze of solace. Her whole body was shaking. "We're going to fix it together," he assured deeply; listening to the faint distress noises falling from her then grabbed his shield, fastening it onto small hook that was attached to his jacket's back collar. "C'mon, I've got an idea."

Wanda didn't budge at first, her hands fumbled over the ground, collecting pieces of the rose. She was in a state of despair. For a moment—a bitter moment—Wanda summoned her power to encase over the petals, and tried to merge them back together. "It was meant for him," she struggled to speak, holding her lips into a tight line of anguish. "I should have been more careful in keeping it safe."

"Hey," Steve knelt in front of her, leveling his clear blue eyes at the flower cup in her hand. "It wasn't your fault. Things happen that are out of our control." He paused, closing his eyes for second, and then released a calm breath, looking sincerely into her teary eyes. "You can't let your grief destroy who you are, Wanda. Believe me, I know it takes more than a lifetime to figure all that out. But I promise you that one day you will see Pietro racing towards you again."

She tilted her head closer to him, her lips brushed millimeters over the smooth curve of his jaw. There was a clash of fire between them. Heat wavering from his massive body engulfing around her, and she registered the tranquil relief; grasping onto the embrace of trust as her lifeline. She felt protected by him, even though the gorging twist of pain racked against her heart. They were close, fighting the bereft connection and guiding each other through the trail of destruction left by their losses.

Steve didn't avert his eyes from her, he focused everything on her, blocking out the blaring car horns and keeping her steady against the red storm of energy. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice evident with uncertainty. She refused to answer him. He pressed again, with a more gentle timbre. "Wanda, do you trust me enough to carry you out of here?"

She gasped out a wordless response and looped her arm over his shoulders. Her rings grazed the alloy edge of his shield. "I still want to see my brother," she whispered, still clutching the rose. There was a constant throb in her chest, a painful reminder of the lifelong covenant she made on the day of Pietro's funeral service. "I promised him, Captain Rogers."

Steve looked down at her with his benevolent azure eyes, holding her sorrowful gaze firm. "Let's not break that promise," he said, the fullness of his lips pulling into a weak smile. He slowly eased her off the ground, placing his right hand under her legs, holding his left hand parallel as their faces leveled. So close that his lips eclipsed over her jaw, and she rested her head onto his shoulder.

A crowd of onlookers on the sidewalk, remarked at his heroic act of carrying the mutant across the street; degrading Wanda with labeled judgments of her dark appearance. Hex girl—a deranged witch. Blood meandered down her ashen skin and her breaths came up labored, unsettled. "Don't look at them, Wanda," Steve whispered, his voice held a commanding tone. His blue eyes seared into her murky gaze. "Just focus on your brother. We're almost there..."

"I can't allow my fear to keep me locked in, Captain Rogers," Wanda whimpered into his jacket. Remorse clawed through her veins, and tears stung as they sloped over the gashes on her face. "I deserve to be called such names...The things I can do… I am far from a normal girl. To them I am just a witch who scares people in their dreams."

"You're human." Steve said, stepped onto the curb, advancing towards the entry gate of the cemetery. "A very special one. Don't ever let people make you think differently. You have incredible gifts that can help save a many people...It's your choice. I know you're meant for something more than this, Wanda, and I think your brother did as well."

Listening to the gravity of sentiment arise in his low voice, Wanda clamped her eyes shut, absorbing his clusters of memory that held the visages of a disturbed, handsome man with scruff and a chiseled face veiled by long wolfish brown hair. It was his eyes, pure wintry azure with mixtures of darkness that revealed his true existence. He was Steve's best friend.

"Bucky," she whispered, detecting the super-soldier's guilt solidifying inside his guarded heart. "You have a friend who is named Bucky?"

Masking his insurmountable pain, Steve smiled contently at those memories; allowing the coarse of bitterness to slip from him. He regarded her for a moment. Wanda looked so detached, fundamentally broken and unsure. And he froze in his steps, a few words replayed in his mind. _What would Bucky do?_ The loss of his best friend was devastating, somehow grief made him become resilient and he used it to carry on the fight; protecting people though sometimes he had to make tough choices.

Life to him was a battlefield; lines were compromised, deception and mortal destruction became the enemy and love was a real victory—something pure and worth fighting for every day. Bucky was always there for him, fighting at his side, and defending him from the bullies. He had sacrificed so much, to give Steve a chance to breathe easier and showed the little guy that it was small things people did that counted.

Steve resumed in his strides, bringing her to a bench. He gently eased her down. "Wait here," he told her, his soft voice inflected against her as he pinned his steady gaze across the obstructed street. A small flower shop came into his view. "There's something I've gotta do, Wanda. I want you to stay right here, and don't move from this spot."

Mistrustfully, she tucked her knees against her chest, staring at Steve. Unblinking, her gray eyes held the same fragmentary of a traumatized child seen alone in the park, calling out for a loved one to find them. She was still just a little girl inside who needed comfort and support in her difficult time of grieving for her twin's death.

Whispering a plea in Slavic, Wanda narrowed her gaze onto his arm. As Steve turned, she clasped her fingers over his wrist, preventing him from leaving her. "You can't leave me," she breathed in a low urging voice that was barely audible. Her lips quivered and her face fell into a shattered expression of abandonment, however it seemed broken on her youthful features. "I don't want to get lost," she murmured, her heart calling out to him.

Steve crouched down to her level, stroking his fingers over her pulsing knuckles. A slant of his lips merged into a smile of credence as he met her dimming gaze. "Hey, don't ever think that you're alone," he said faintly, and her grip loosened, allowing him to bring his hand to her shoulder.

As Wanda collected her breath, she absorbed every detail of his unguarded appearance. His statuesque face wore the angelic visage of a hardened warrior, his calm eyes held the colors of radiant azure and ice. His razor-edged cheek bones held no blemishes of past battles. His ample jawline set into a determined expression as beads of sweat dripped over his vibrant skin.

Finally, his neatly blonde hair was unkempt and sodden. With no reserves of containing her emotions; Wanda instinctively lifted her hand to his chiseled face and traced her index finger over the smooth edges of his full-arched lips. With that, Steve ostensibly, commanded his demeanor to remain stoic against her needy touch of attachment. It was unnatural to her at first, to grasp onto something real, a new form of trust that wasn't her brother. The super-soldier had a decade of elevating pain that stirred in his noble spirit. "I can't lose you too, Captain Rogers."

Steve held her obscured stare. He unlatched his shield from his shoulders and placed it against her boots. "Will you keep this safe for me, while I make a run to the store?" She bit his lip, curling her fingers over the sleek rim. "Good." He gave her a trusting smile, before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I won't be long."

Watching him vanish into the crowd, Wanda trembled for a moment, allowing the hollowness of fear to reside in her. Then, she slumped down to the cement and splayed her hand over the surface of the shield, using it has an anchor to calm the wave of uncertainty crashing against her.

Closing her eyes, she separated herself from the world, focusing on her brother's silver hair and gentle ice blue eyes, while feeling utterly content until she felt Steve's hand grasp her arm. She was hoisted off the ground and held firmly against his torso. When she opened her eyes, the colors of blue and white engulfed her vision, two beautiful and vivid roses were resting in his palm. "Where did you find these?" she asked, sounding bewildered as her fingers delicately moved in fond motion over the fresh petals. "Pietro loved these colors. It always reminded him of our home during winter. It was the only time we were truly happy to be alive."

Steve smiled to himself. "Let's go pay him a visit." He retrieved his shield, slipping the strap over his wrist and gave her the roses. They walked through the gates and casually strolled down the concrete path; passing clusters of cross headstones, markers and large green dotted yew and oak trees that overshadowed lines of fading granite and marble.

He secured his arm around her lower back, guiding her to a chiseled headstone that had Pietro's name engraved on the sleek marble. There were remnants of decaying flowers and an arrow head that Clint had left from his previous visit with his newborn Nathaniel. Pieces of friendships and memory lane on the mound of grass. Wanda was hesitant at first, holding back her tears as she stepped an inch towards the grave site and looked at her brother's name. "Take your time, Wanda," Steve said, standing behind her. "We've got nothing planned today at home base."

She nodded silently and carefully placed the white rose at the foot of the gravestone alongside the arrow head that lay there. She touched the cold stone, embracing the warmth that she always felt in her brother's shielding embrace and held onto it as her strength. It was unsettling at first. Wanda felt pieces of her soul mending together; a lot had changed in just a few weeks, she was given a chance to redeem her sins, uncover emotions that were buried deep within the red abyss of HYDRA. For the longest time, she spent moments invading the dreams of her victims, twisting each fragment into an illusion of failure. Now, she was discovering that she had dreams and her twin would always be there if the nightmares threatened to snatch her away.

Steve closed the distance between them and placed the blue rose down, and the stems crossed. "I know you think that you can get by on your own, but you see you don't have to be alone. The Avengers are your family, and I don't want you to think of me as just the captain on our team."

Wanda looked at him with renewed light shining in her eyes. She slid her fingers in between his, interlocking them, then said with a gentle smile, "I never thought I would be able to have one again, Captain Rogers."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head with a curious smirk, "What?"

Wanda squeezed her fingers over his rough knuckles, whispering true words, "A brother."

Hearing those words, Steve felt warmth, stability and purpose lance back into his heart. He tipped his head, and pressed a kiss on her cheek with the cushioned swell of his lips. "Let's go home, together," he breathed out a sigh of assent, holding her hand into a firm clutch as they left the graveyard with their first steps as brother and sister. In that moment, of feeling her head lean into his, Steve looked back at the grave, and avowed his words to Pietro, "I'll watch over her for you." He promised.

Wanda smiled up at him and she felt safe under his shield. She felt welcomed into his world.

She was an Avenger.

 **The End.**


End file.
